Protege
by merlintriss
Summary: Harry Baker was never supposed to amount to anything but a serial killer. SVU x-crossover.
1. Chapter 1

Every time I see the Law and Order: Special Victims Unit episode "Prodigy," where one character says that Harry Baker could either be a evil or brilliant. For some reason, this has always reminded me of Goren and the episode of Criminal Intent where the viewers are introduced to Declan, Goren's mentor.

So, this is a cross-over (of sorts) between Criminal Intent and SVU, based on Harry Baker's life as a younger version of Goren.

--

Her johns had always been in the other room, and the sounds of their sex had travelled through a thin curtain of beads to a young son she didn't seem to care about. When she wasn't busy selling herself for a dime, she was too drunk to notice him.

He remembered from his serial killer encyclopedias that absent mothers, emotionally abusive households, were starting points for future killers. That was if you believed the whole nurture side in the classic debate. Harry was all for nature. The philosophical idea that some people are just born evil. He believed that up until the point he started his research for his doctorate.

Serial killers had always been Harry's interest. With clinical detachment he had done terrible things as a child, just to try and force himself into being one. His mother had always said that Harry was special, and Harry thought that men who killed without thought were special. They were the most interesting of all people, able to be chameleons in their own skin. The BTK killer had so successfully blended in to society that he was a deacon in his own church. Serial murderers were invisible when they wanted to be, and legends later. The Zodiac killer with his still mystical status. Dahmer would never be forgotten.

Years of play acting had reduced him to the truth. Harry didn't have the stomach for the profession. The surgical precision with which he attacked animals was more clinical than sinister. He didn't even allow them to suffer after the cat. Just dead and preserved. There were animal manufacturers who killed with more gusto.

Television had prepared him well.

Harry had excelled in school, silently climbing his way until he crawled into college. Teachers noticed him, thought he had remarkable intelligence when he set his mind to it, but decided that there was something incredibly dark about the young man. College admissions counselors were worried about him after interviews but couldn't deny his test scores and GPA.

At first, he had plans to become a doctor, pursue a career in which he could exercise his unique capabilities. He had to get out of the rut he had placed himself in, and staying as far away from his past obsessions seemed the best way out. Being a doctor meant you helped people live.

Besides, he enjoyed knowledge, even though his stash of criminology books had long since been buried under a pile of childhood "toys" and dust. Psychology excited him, so he focused on those courses, intent on one day going to work in a hospital and helping people, hoping to atone for the crimes of his youth.

He still remembered when that animal control officer had died. The detective, Stabler, had threatened to follow him for the rest of his life, sure that Harry would one day kill. Stabler still checked in every few months, at least once a year, sure that the doctor idea was simply a cover for a more sinister hobby. Harry wasn't used to having someone with so little faith in him, but he could appreciate the sentiment. His mother had complete faith in him. Her Harry could do anything. He was amazing, intelligent and beautiful.

His career was laid out in front of him. He was sure of it. Then he met Declan Gage, a professor at his university, hanging around waiting for the next serial killer to strike to add to his extensive research. Harry had read some of his work before, with his amazing insights into the criminal mind, even the mind of his own daughter. Even if Harry didn't show the drive, Gage thought he might have the next Robert Goren on his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Elliot Stabler was worried. This was a normal status for the stoic detective. He thrived off of worry, of being filled with the consuming fear that something, somewhere was going terribly wrong. He had raised his children with that fear, keeping them away from the world he was so privy to in his line of work.

Above all, Harry Baker worried Det. Elliot Stabler. The boy had severe issues. Raised by a prostitute who serviced her customers mere feet from her young and impressionable son, he had shown signs of future crimes at fifteen. The boy had toyed with him and Olivia, pushing all of their buttons with his dark intelligence.

Dr. George Huang had said it best when he said the boy was a sociopath. He didn't care about people. Harry Baker was a threat to others.

Since he had first met the boy, he had kept tabs on his whereabout. According to his teachers, the boy was borderline (maybe even) genius. He took to all subjects without much thought, coasting through classes on his prior knowledge alone. Stabler wasn't the only one who feared the boy was going to become Harris and Klebold. His teachers, despite their assurances that Harry was an amazing student, worried about his mental health.

Every year like clockwork, Stabler would find a way to make sure that Harry knew he was still watching. He wanted that future Dahmer to know he wasn't going to get away with anything.

The thing that worried Stabler the most though, was the idea that Harry was smarter than him. Harry was probably going to be one of the greatest serial killers of all time. He had the potential. If Elliot relaxed his vigilance for just a minute, Harry could get away with anything.

Sometimes, even though the good doctor had retired some years ago, Elliot would meet with Huang to talk about their old days. The conversationw would inevitablly switch to Harry Baker.

"It just hits me, this kid is out there probably killing some woman right now. You know? He's just that sick. You said so yourself, doctor, he's a sociopath," he bit into his steak, watching the dimunitive Asian psychiatrist across the table.

"Elliot, you don't know that."

"Of course I do. Huang, you know that kids a basket case. He's just waiting to crack open."

"Elliot, child psychiatry is an in-exact science. The teenage mind is so convoluted and going through so many changes, its nearly impossible to determine heavy psychiatric illnesses that young."

"but you said..." Huang interuppted, still soft-spoken as ever.

"I said he had the hall-marks of being a sociopath. He also is just at that cusp. He could grow up to be a murderer or he could be a brilliant profiler. In fact, I've been in contact with a friend of mine, you might have heard of him, Declan Gage?"

"Wasn't he with that loose cannon a couple of years ago? Robert Goren, I think?"

"I never took you to be a stickler for the rules."

"That's another one that's waiting to crack."

"Declan Gage was Detective Goren's mentor back in the day. Gage was also my one of my criminal psychology professors in college. The man has real insight into the criminal mind. He thinks that Harry Baker might have true potential."

"Are you kidding me George? Really? You're just going to give that boy the psychological know how to really torture his victims. You might as well give him a gun and a room full of helpless innocents."

"Is that reallly how you feel Elliot?"

"Yes."

"You aren't even going to give the boy a chance? He could have real potential. This could be the diference between murderer and profiler. Goren himself was like this Harry boy when he was younger. Declan saw the potential. Cultivated it and helped form him into the investigator he is now."

"Huang, don't you listen around the office? Goren isn't going anywhere. He is put on suspension time after time. His partners go nowhere but down. Alex Eames, his partner, I used to know her back when she was at the academy. Real captain potential, until she was partnered with him. He ruined her, practically blacklisted her from getting a promotion."

"I didn't know you cared so much about the departments bureaucracy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Goren, for all his idiosyncracies, for all his eccentricities, gets the job done. You should appreciate that Elliot."

"This kid, George, this kid is more dangerous than any of the regular perverts I deal with. He's unfeeling, cold. Empty. He would kill without thought, without consideration."

Their conversation went nowhere after that, with the psychiatrist refusing Elliots requests to get Declan Gage to back off from training Harry Baker. He even refused to give Elliot Declan's contact info, a petty and pointless gesture since a quick search through the police data banks would give him what he needed. They promised to meet each other soon, and went their seperate ways.

As he sometimes did on his late night walks, when he didn't think about where he was going, Elliot visited Harry Bakers dump site. The small cooler was gone, but Elliot still remembered it being pulled out of the ground, dirt caking the bright exterior, small and pristine cream skulls on wire mesh. Harry Baker was a threat to the public. Harry Baker wasn't going to get away with murder.

(A.N. Sorry about the change in point of view, but I thought focusing on Stabler might be interesting for a little bit. I swear this isnt' an SVU fic. I'll get to the CI element in a quick bit. R & R, so I at least know someones reading.) 


	3. Chapter 3

deliriousdancer-exactly. I'm not trying to make life easier for Harry Baker. I'm trying to force him into a life where he has to fight for each and every thing. I'm guessing you're more for nuture on the nature vs. nurture argument.

Chapter 3

College in New York seemed to be the most logical place from Harry to be. Despite the fact that he felt a deep contempt for his mother, like a kicked dog he couldn't leave her alone in the city. He fell into university life without incident, admissions counselors sure to accept such a bright young boy, even if he was a little trouble. What Harry Baker didn't know was that Det. Stabler tried to convince admisssions to deny the boy entrance, sure that his history as a suspect in a rape and murder would disallow him entry. To Stabler's great dismay, Harry Baker was accepted on full scholarship.

Harry stayed away from women at college, still worried about what he considered his destiny to kill. Besides, he was sure that if Det. Stabler found out he was dating someone, he would scare the girl away. He didn't really have friends either. It wasn't that he was living in fear of the good detective, he'd just rather not bother with the whole thing. He could deal on his own.

Courses in biology were, of course, easy. He had no problem with anatomy and dissection due to his earlier exploits. He was finding more and more that as far as he tried to get away from past obsessions, the more they kept popping up in unexpected places. As he cut into another heart, scalpel dipping past flesh and into muscle, he forced himself to remember that Jack the Ripper was thought to be a doctor.

Psychology interested him more than the harder sciences, so much so he was considering going into that field. A psychologist helps people, and it didn't remind him as much of his serial killer crazy youth. Harry Baker had never tried harder to fight who he was, never tried this much to not be what he had groomed himself into as a child. It seemed that the more he fought against his past, the more he fell back into it.

All of his life, he had thought that it was just natural for him to kill. He had all the ear marks of a serial killer. All of them. He assumed, for most of his life, that he had no choice in the matter. Until he met Declan Gage.

Declan was working as a professor, disgraced from criminalist works after the Sebastian scandal, and further blacklisted after the crimes of his daughter. The university had been eager to hire such a high profile instructor, even if he was known for his idiosyncracies more than his intelligence. Harry remembered meeting Declan for this first time, walking into the criminal psychology class he had decided on the spur or the moment to take, and encountering a tall and lithe mustauched man with a bright eyes. There was something insatiable about Declan Gage, and energy that just radiated off of him in cool confidence.

Harry Baker loved criminology. Years of research into the darkest minds he could find had prepared him well for such a course. Or so he thought. Declan Gage enjoyed watching his students squirm, questioning their preconceived notions of what was right and what was wrong. As far as a moral compass, Declan Gage was rather useless. Seeing into the criminal mind was where he was at. Was Dahmer a victim of his own inadequacies, trying to find the perfect mate, or was he just a cold blooded member of society? Declan wanted them to think outside of two dimensions, outside of black and white. His teaching style had a habit of running students out of the classroom instead of increasing class size. He rarely lost his temper, but he would get animated to a point where it was kind of terrifying, especially when it was about a killers techniques.

Harry didn't know it at the time, but Declan Gage had taken a liking to him. Though perhaps he wasn't Goren, Gage's surrogate son and possibly one of his greatest disappointments, the boy had a great deal of natural potential. Declan's sixth sense got a tingle around him, making him think that this boy was on the cusp of something brilliant. Quiet, unassuming, practically clinical in manner, he also reminded Declan of himself, an honor he didn't even bestow upon his favorite pupil.

The question was, would Declan be able to convince Harry Baker to change his career path? To divert himself from helping cracked out socialites get their hands on valium to supporting the greater good?

(A.N. Sorry, not much plot in this jumble. R & R.) 


	4. Chapter 4

(A.N.-Read and Review, or else I think I'm just writing this for my own amusement. Unless I am writing this for my own amusement.)

Chapter 4

Finals had come far too quickly for Harry Baker. None of his classes presented him with much difficulty, with the exception of Gages class. That one tickled the edges of what Harry had thought was long buried, down deep beside the books on Gacy's techniques and forensics kits. He was still going to fight it though. He had to stay away from that field. After all, there was no way Det. Stabler was going to make it easy for him to be a profiler. Better to be a head shrink than fighting his way into a field he wasn't sure he wanted.

Declan Gage wasn't as easily swayed. Though he never directly talked to the brilliant young man, he was sure that Harry Baker was going to chose a different path than the one Gage had laid out for him. He couldn't directly confront him, knowing the boys behavior that woudl send him farther away. With a few phone calls to his fellow teachers, he dealt with the issue at hand in a more subtle way.

There were no open classes to take in psychology that next semester for Harry Baker, none except the abnormal psychology class taught by Gage. Harry was smart enough to realize that that was entirely unlikely and that for some reason the idiosyncratic professor wanted to teach him again. Instead of goinng with his gut instinct to stay away from criminal minds, he felt pulled towards finding out why.

The class was small and incredibly select. Harry had only seen most of his classmates in passing, on the edges of his vision. There was a petite red head in the corner, always fiddling with her pencil, the studious man from Ghana always wearing a starched shirt to class, and the laid back free-spirited girl who sat right beside him. Her he knew better than most. Her name was Christina, and she was a vegan hippie with a cliche love of the environment. She was always picketing in front of his building, and because he felt drawn to her, he stayed as far away from her as possible.

Gage came into class late, as usual, dressed much like a 1950's librarian, suspenders under his tweed jacket and over his lightly patterned green shirt. His long dark hair was pulled into a pony-tail at the base of his skull and his round glasses perched at the end of his nose. Declan looked over at his class before absentmindedly sitting on the edge of the light wood desk at the front of the room.

"You are all members of my PSY 240 class, The Abnormal Psychology of the Criminal Mind. You've all had me before, and have either dealt with the way I teach or decided that what I had to say was important. Or, if you're like Mr. Hoishimara," he motioned at the Asian man in the second row, "You're taking this class for your psychology credit for Pre-Med," holding up his hands in defeat, he smiled, "Don't worry Mr. Hoishimara, I don't hold it against you. We all have to get degrees. This class will be harder than any class you've taken before, possibly the most intellectually stimulating. I hate group-think, and expect all of you to express your opinions so I can cut them down to size." a light giggle came from the red-head at that, but Declan continued unperturbed, "We will begin with Jack the Ripper, as he is a famous enough model and there are many ways of looking at him."

The first class went well, all things considered. Christina made some comment about how it was kind of sexist that its presumed that Jack the Ripper was in fact male, and that after cases like Aileen Wuornos, it was kind of silly to presume that it was in no way possible for a woman to be responsible. She pointed out that in an age of repression, killing prostitutes could have been a way to express her own urges and hatred of their supposed freedom. Of course, this was met by skepticism and argument, and for some strange and unimaginable reason, Harry Baker played along with her, agreeing with what she was saying, and digging in as far as he could into his own knowledge to try and come up with a reason why. He was so intent on supporting her, that he didn't catch Declans knowing glance. There were many reasons why Jack the Ripper was more likely male, reasons Harry Baker would definitely know being such a serial killer enthusiast, the fact that the killings were a sign of a sexual sadist, and that with the exception of Aileen Wuornos, there were very few female sexual sadists. Even fewer that killed the same sex.

"Okay class, I think thats enough discussion for today. Read the text assigned and be prepared to debate on a subject a little older than Jack the Ripper, Elizabeth Bathory. Maybe then our feminists in the room will be pleased that women are wholly represented in the realm of the serial killer."

Someone in the room said, "you oughta know," probably in reference to Gages now infamous daughter, but he ignored it with more grace than it was worth. Gages reputation had been shot when he had failed to recognize his own daughter as a killer, though his disgraced protege had managed to see it.

Gage also hadn't failed to notice that Goren had shown up in the middle of class, sitting in the back for a while before slipping out right before the bell. He hadn't contributed to the conversation, though his massive presence had been noticeable, at least to Gage. He had sat, watching the room, profiling even if he wasn't completely aware of it. Goren had a magnificent mind for such things, an almost natural talent that his mentor had sought to mine for his own uses. But Bobby had been able to get out of that trap, had been able to move ahead and along.

Declan packed up his things and went to his office, a cherry office in a row of non-descript offices, his name in black paint on the door. Goren stood outside of it, and Gage ushered him in, setting his things down on the desk.

"Robert, how good to see you."

"I'm sure Declan. How is she?" He needn't mention her name, Gage's daughter.

"I chronicled all of her endeavors. You should've seen the excitement. To see my own daughter," Declan paused, trying to tamp down his own intellectual excitement, "so without remorse, to glad to relive every torture. It was remarkable really," he cocked his head to the side, "But you didn't come to talk about her, did you?"

"No. Det. Stabler, in SVU, wanted me to come talk to you. I did as a courtesy to my partner. I don't even know the man."

"Talk to me? About what?"

"Harry Baker."

"What about him?"

"He wants you to convince the boy to stay out of criminology."

"Whatever for? Hes absolutely brilliant at it. I swear that boy will outdo you some day."

"When he was fifteen, he was a suspect in a rape and murder of a animal control officer."

"Just a suspect?"

"A very closely watched suspect. The murder was later found to be someone else, but while they were watching him, they found a lot of things that were...off," Goren had sat down, but now he stood up again and moved about pacing, his head cocked slightly to the side.

"Get to the point Robert, I haven't got all day."

"The boy used to torture cats. He kept the skulls of animals in a cooler in Central Park. He had detailed historys of serial killers and methods. His mother was prostitute who entertained johns in the bedroom next to where her son slept."

"Ah, I see. This Det. Stabler thinks Harry Baker is going to become a serial killer."

"You have to admit, he has all the earmarks."

"Yes." Goren sat down again.

"What are you going to do?"

"Keep teaching him, of course. Harry Baker may have the potential to be a serial killer, but he can be so much more. Think of all the greatest profilers of all time, and consider him in that context. He has an unnatural ability to process all the material about a case, and come up with a usable and workable profile. All of that, and he's a sophomore in college. Imagine him with a doctorate? With years of experience?"

"You dont' think thats a little terrifying? If he goes bad, he'lll have all the material he needs to be unstoppable."

"No one is unstoppable."

"That's not comforting."

"I've never been in the business of comforting others Robert. You know that. Harry Baker is brilliant, and he doesn't even know it yet. All that untapped potential. It took me a lot of favors just to get him into my class. I'm not going to jeopardize his future because of some detectives fears and him being a suspect five years ago."

"Its on your head if he's loosed upon the world."

"Oh, I'm much too old for that. If he turns out to be a bad apple, its you Robert, who's going to have to deal with him. I'll be long gone."

(A.N. R &R) 


	5. Chapter 5

TriggerHappyWorld-Thanks for reviewing. I kept seeing the SVU episode with Baker, and kept hearing this terrible proclamation about his future, and I had to come up with a story about it. I have actually only seen the Declan/Jo Gage episode once, though it was a rather amazing episode. Thanks again for reviewing.

Chapter 5

The only downside to going to a private university were the people who attended a private university. Namely, the rich kids he had come to know in his basic psychology classes. They were a pre-requisite for pre-law and pre-med candidates, so they were filled with the children of the rich and famous. Self-entitled, for the most part, and in complete distrust of him, they filled the back of his classes with their insessent chatter. He was aware, from his multiple psych evaluations, that if he chose to, he could easily become part of their pack. He coud infiltrate them, and become one of them, even with his less than amazing background. That was the nature of his mind, the ability to become whatever he wanted to become. And then, if he chose, he could become kingmaker. He could tear down their clique from the inside, or he could build it up to be stronger than it was. It wasn't ego that made him think this of his abilities. It was simply the way things were. He knew that he was capable of such things.

But at this point, it didn't interest him enough to try his hand.

The upside of a private university was the same, though he was pretty sure when he though of that, he thought only of Christina. He continued to feel drawn to her, and he had taken to watching her through his window. She was passing out fliers today, he couldn't read them from here, but he was pretty sure they had to do with the same subject they usually did, the green movement. Her movements were incredibly predictable. She would reach out a flier with her left hand. She would give this little half smile when it was accepted, one where the corners of her lips arched a little but the rest of her face remained a mask of cheerful indifference. When it was turned away, she would pull her hand back sharply, as if struck, and her brows would furrow. At one point, someone took one of the fliers and a few steps later dropped it on the wet pavement. She rushed after them in rich fury, pulling the flier from the ground. He couldn't hear what she yelled, but he was sure it was colorful judging from the looks she recieved from those around her. When no one was around, she twisted around on one foot and would push her long brown hair out of her face.

The fact that he watched her scared him more than anything else, more than his childhood exploits killing animals, more than any other of his sociopathic tendencies. He was worried about his unerring interest. He couldn't stop watching her.

"Dude, are you watching the femi-Nazi again?" the cat-got-a-mouse voice jarred him from his thoughts. It was his roommate Charles "Chuck" Dolm.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he wasn't sure what made him lie to Chuck about something so seemingly innocuous.

"Don't pull that one on my Harry. You're practically undressing the girl with your eyes. If it was anyone except you, I'd think you'd taken that freaky prof's class just to sit behind her," Chuck laughed a little, pulling of his sweater and throwing it across the bed, "Hell, if it was anyone other than you, I'd swear Harry junior'd be popping a tent right now."

If Harry blushed, he would be doing so now.

"You're full of it Chuck."

"Sure. C'mon man. She's a warm blooded chick, even if she's a litte bit of a granola girl. You're a guy who has definitely not slept with a girl since term started, maybe ever, and you're just sitting here like some peeping tom instead of doing what any other guy would do."

"And what would any other guy do Chuck?"

"Ask her out."

"I'm not looking for a relationship right now."

"Who said anything about a relationship Harry. Man, you have no free thought."

"You're a cad."

"And you're a prude."

"Whatever man. I'm just looking out for your health."

Harry shook his head. But he was happy that someone was actually talking to him not to accuse him of something or to pass him off. Chuck was probably the closest thing he had to a friend, and he appreciated him for that. Even in Chuck didn't understand, didn't fully comprehend what Harry was capable of. It was sweet of him, in his frat boy way, to try and hook Harry up.

But Harry just continued to watch and Chuck put on another shirt so he could go on his date with Marissa from the co-ed dorm across the quad. He only got up when Christina packed up her bag from the bench a few feet away and went back to her dorm. He was thankful that at least he didn't try and follow her. At least that urge was in check.

(A.N. Read and review please.) 


	6. Chapter 6

(A.N.-Sorry I haven't updated in a while. Thank you TriggerHappyWorld for continuing to read this, since you're just about the only person who seems to. This is a past scene.)

Harry Baker had been very young when he decided the woman who raised him was not his mother. It was around the time he realized she'd been getting monthly checks in unmarked envelopes, money she used for her own habits, but money none the less.

He had been five.

His therapist, later on in life, determined that this determination was the imaginings of a very broken boy. But he knew he was right.

When he was seven, he finally managed to get the check before his "mother" could and read the name before it was snatched away. Elizabeth Hitchins. It didn't feel right,but he had let it rest there. At least somewhere, maybe, he had a real mother who sent money to support him. It wasn't her fault the woman who raised him spent the money on herself. For years, he imagined her rescuing him, protecting him from the evils of resting behind a beaded curtain as that woman got more money from a new "client."

He gave up hope when he was fourteen, when he read about Manson's mother casting him aside, when he became too cynical to believe in fairy tales. When he lost all faith in things he could not see.

He came in late through his window one night, and heard two soft feminine voices discussing something. He recognized her timbre, recognized that grasping, needy quality she held on to even when she needed nothing. But the other voice...the other voice was different. He recognized the accent as upper crust British, the kind of voice you heard when you watched fake monarchs on TV. But there was something more, a coloring that twisted the voice from Btisish. Australian, maybe? It was a coloring that made her voice lower, more street level. He didn't recognize her.

His "mother" rose suddenly when he came in, motioning towards him, as if there was something wrong.

"Harry, Harry this is an old friend of mine. Nicole..." the woman cut her off.

"Nicole will do fine. No reason to burden the boy with unnecessary titles."

"Yeah. Ok," Harry knew there was something off about her. Every sense of his was tingling, telling him to run, to fight, to do something. But he retained his constant level of outward calm.

"Your mother has been telling me so much about you, Harry," her smile was deadly and comforting. He felt disconcerted. Trapped. Like the mouse trapped before the snake. He couldn't escape.

He saw the panic in his "mothers" eyes, and he felt pity for her. He couldn't understand what, but he knew the woman presented a threat to him. Or to her, at least.

"Really?" his mother never talked about him.

"Yes. You're very bright," she smiled still, "Do you do well in school?"

"I do ok," he could've sworn he saw a look of accusation flash from Nicole to his mother, could see her cringe.

"School is very important," she turned back to him and her smile was full of venom (not directed at him, he knew somehow) laced in malice and strength, "You really have to do your best."

"What are you, a teacher?" he was being snide. He didn't care.

"Such impertinence," she tisked, shaking her head, "Your mother certainly didn't mention that to me. And I was. A while ago. Before you were born I was a literature professor at Oxford."

"Not in Australia?" he wished he would say her head shot up in shock, but she was too schooled to be broken like that. She merely held his gaze a little too long, let him know in that look that he had read her right.

"Don't think I've ever been there. Heard it's lovely country, though," she smiled aain, this time more open faced light going to her eyes. She was more beautiful when she was being genuine. "You're so much like your father, wouldn't you say," this was directed to his "mother."

"You knew my father?" If the woman who raised me was his mother, he had always thought of his father as one of her johns, a nameless face in the crowd. But if this woman knew his father, maybe his maternity was not a lie.

"When we were younger, I ran into him a couple of times. I introduced him to your mother," He wanted to question her futher, but as if sensing this, she got up quickly, shutting the door on his youthful hope. "Well, I really must be off. I do hope we'll keep in touch this time," again towards his mother, and though it bore the air of a request, he knew it to be a command. She exited the room, followed by the fresh scent of sandlewood.

His mother lit a cigarette. She never talked about Nicole. She was a taboo subject in his house.

But Nicole, in her cosmoplitan glory, her broken form hidden under silk and glitz, she brought hope in from out of the cold. Out there somewhere, he might have a father. Sure, that meant that the whore who raised him might actually have brought him into this world. But he might have a father, a real man Nicole had known.

It was with that strength that he made it through high school, through forcefully being alone. It was how he decided to go to college. It was what made him sane.

(Read and Review)


	7. Chapter 7

(A.N. I'm thinking this whole series might be a slight AU. As if the entire series of Law and Order had been a little longer. And star jelly, you're in luck, because I was about to post this when I read your review.)

The next time Robert Goren ran into Declan Gage, drinking Earl Gray at an outdoor cafe, the older man was close to tears. His shoulders shook with the effort, his body bent double, his fingers white on the edge of the wrought iron table. The old man was laughing.

"God Goren, you weren't there. Harry Baker came to me," he stopped to let another giggle fill him.

"The boy Stabler warned me about?"

"Completely baselessly, but yes," Declan managed to sit up, his long body folded comfortably in his chair, occasionally shaking with mirth, "he came to confess something to me."

"Should I be hearing this?"

"What? Oh, would you stop with this nonsense. Baker is only a threat to your career, not other people. That boy is brilliant Goren. Positively brilliant," he sipped his tea and looked up," He came to confess that he was feeling obsessive over a girl."

"What girl? Don't play around with this Declan, she might be in danger."

"In danger of his arousal maybe."

"Excuse me?"

"He's attracted to her, Bobby. Like a teenage boy is to a teenaged girl. That's all. Your friend..."

"He's not my friend. He knows Eames."

"Whatever he is, your colleague Stabler, he's crushed his boy. He thinks he's going to kill her just because when he looks at her, he gets flushed, his palms sweat, he can't speak to her directly. He defended her ridiculous notion that Jack the Ripper was a woman. Poor boy is smitten."

"You can't know that."

"Don't be ridiculous Bobby. I've dealt with plenty of killers, far more than you. I trained you, didn't I? This boy is not a killer. Sure, sure we all have it in us, the capacity to kill. But I don't think this boy ever will," he sighed, swigging down the rest of his tea, "Besides, he's been avoiding her like the plague since he discovered his attraction. Postively ludicrous, of course. I told him so," he leaned forward, conspiracy on his thoughts, "he's never had a father figure, Bobby. He's always been alone, always hounded as the next Jeffrey Dahmer. Still ridiculous. With that level of charisma and intellect, he's far closer to a Charles Manson," he smiled at Goren's discomfort, "None of the girls he's known has ever lived up to his intellectual standards. She's his first love."

"Sociopaths don't love."

"Precisely. Which is why he's not a sociopath. He doesn't dream of cutting her up, doesn't think about her blood all over his hands. He just thinks of her. And the worst part is, she's totally unremarkable. She doesn't deserve a man like him," he sobered from the dreamy eyed look of glee he'd had, "We need to talk about something else, Bobby."

"Jo?"

"No. Not my daughter. You always ask about her Bobby. Harboring a crush? No, someone else?" he smiled again, skipping into the next topic of conversation with relative ease and the attention span of a rabbit, "I want you to talk to Harry Baker."

"I'm not sure if thats the best idea."

"Why? Meet the boy, Bobby. He's a good boy," he shook his head, "Y'know, they were saying the same thing about you. Saying you couldn't be trusted, that you had all the hallmarks of a young serial killer. That when you hit thirty-five you were going to kill, that it would all be on my head. He reminds me of you."

"Fine. I'll see the boy. I'm not promising anything."

"He's meeting with a young man from the BAU today. Dr. Spencer Reed or other. I think you've heard of him. I think thats the kind of place for him. Criminal profiler for the FBI," he smiled at Goren, "what you could've been if you hadn't joined the NYPD."

"I'll talk to him, Declan, but I can't promise anything."

(Read and Review)


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry for being gone so long. I was caught up in the watchmen fandom that I've been working with, publishing a couple of one shots there. And I just watched a couple of episodes of Criminal Intent, a couple in particular with Nicole Wallace and Goren, who have always had my favorite dynamic. I was inspired to continue.

As always, read and review. (And thank you for reviewing deliriousdancer, TriggerHappyWorld, Travilah, star jelly, and BASIRIC. I know there are reviewers out there and I don't put my work in highly trafficable areas. Sometimes it just feels like I'm writing for myself, and I suppose thats ok.)

Chapter 8--

She was out there again. He pressed himself closer to the glass, looking out over the grass quad, rain drizzling down. Her loose hair was pulled back tight across her head, but some of it had fallen loose in the humidity, plastered to her wet neck.

"Dude, talk to her," Chuck was being his normal, insufferable self, though at least he was trying to help. He was sitting back on his bed reading a copy of Lolita because he heard that English chicks were easier to bang when you had good taste in books. He'd asked Harry, and he'd told him that the smart/sexy books were _Lolita_ and _Lady Chatterley's Lover_, that they showed you were smart enough for literature and that you had a sexual side, without being pervy.

"Once again, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Whatever man. Could you wipe the drool off the window? I like to look out it once in awhile too," he flipped a page and sighed, "Maybe that Chat book would be a better idea?"

"_Lolita _makes you look smarter," Harry knew it was bullshit, since Chuck was more likely to bag girls for being attractive than for his reading material, but having similar interests helped.

Christina was handing out fliers, though this time he was pretty sure it was for the "Free Tibet" campaign. It had become her newest attraction, and she had started wearing red shirts with Tibetan symbols on them, pins stuck to her bag declaring the evils of China. He had little interest in Tibet, simply because in his mind there were more important matters at home than abroad, but he let her believe that it was important to him as well. He even attended some late night rally and held a candle for her cause, even as she stood at the podium hugging a tall, dark man.

He had managed to figure out some important things about Christina in their interactions. She was twenty, a sophomore like himself from upstate New York. She was raised by intelligent parents, possibly academics. But something had happened to her when she was young, something terrible. He had narrowed it down to sexual or physical abuse. She didn't respond to rejection well and often shied from the touch of men, but only when it was unexpected. She'd obviously schooled herself from responding violently, and he appreciated that more than if she cowered in her own fear. He wasn't sure what had happened to her.

Harry hated himself for knowing these things, because the only thing she had told him was that she was twenty, and that was only because it was her birthday and one of her friends made her wear a shirt with a large cake on the front. He knew all of these things about her because he paid attention. This wasn't good. This wasn't proper. Normal people didn't infer things like this from girls they barely knew. He felt like he was coming into her life in a way that was far from comfortable, but he didn't know what to do about it. He did it almost instinctively.

The book hit him in the back of his head as Chuck got up and moved to the closet, shucking off his shirt and getting ready to go to out. Probably with Emily, some blond soccer player he'd picked up at lunch.

"Man, if you don't make a move on granola girl I'm going to. Swear to god. I will go down there right now and ask her out. C'mon Harry. Y'know I can do it." Chuck pulled on a t-shirt with the faded emblem of the Peace Corps, a shirt Harry knew he had picked up from an ex-girlfriend.

"She's not your type."

"I like a challenge." He messed with his long bangs, slightly rakish looking, considering that he hadn't gotten a hair cut and pulled on a pair of canvas sneakers, well worn. Harry had to admit, he looked the part.

"You're bullshitting me," but he had gotten Harry's interest, and he was no longer perched on the window sill.

"Not at all. Femi-Nazi's hot for a hippie chick. Besides, everyone knows hippies are crazy in the sack," he smiled, grabbing his back pack and a bottle of water, "They're into all that tantric shit, or something. She probably knows how to do things other girls don't even dream of."

"You wouldn't." It felt like a threat. Harry wondered if it could be a threat. On either side.

"Wouldn't I? You're the psycho genius, right? I've seen you working on that psycho-babble shit. You tell me if I wouldn't do it." He was poised to exit the door.

Harry moved before he did, his body holding the door down, slipping between Chuck's body and the door. The threat finally averted, he ducked his head in mild submission.

"Fine. You've made your point." Chuck grinned, throwing his bag down on the floor next to his bed before lying down on his stomach and picking up another book "How to Pick Up 10's." "I hope you know that books bullshit. Never helping you again."

"You will. At least out of pity. I need help to bag myself proper ladies."

Harry made his way downstairs, pulling on a hoodie before he left the dorm, not bothering to dress like Chuck had been. He wasn't going to try and play her. He was just going to talk to her for a little bit, hopefully that would be enough to assuage Chuck's interest in her. He wasn't sure why he found it so distasteful. Chuck was the closest thing he had to a friend, but he couldn't imagine him with Christina. In a way, he was sure she was worth more than that.

Stepping outside he looked up to his dorm room, and sure enough, Chuck was sitting there, giving him a cheesy thumbs up before settling down at the window. Now he had an audience.

When he approached her, she was standing in the middle of the quad, covered in a light sheen of rain, pamphlets tucked protectively to her chest. Even though she was passing them out in the rain, she didn't let them get unduly wet.

"Hey, Harry, right? From Gage's PSY 240 class, right?" she smiled, tucking a loose strand of wet hair from her face unnecessarily.

"Uh, yeah." He couldn't formulate words in this setting. In class, he could hold his own, but talking with Christina without any sort of pretext was killing him.

"Hey, I heard he was arranging some sort of meeting between you and someone from the BAU? He really has a thing for you."

"Yeah, I'm not sure why."

"Cause you're really brilliant. Obviously." she scoffed, handing a flyer to a uninterested man in a blue over coat.

"Uh, thank you. I guess."

"No, really. I mean, I take the class cause I'm interested. You have a future in the field."

"What do you want to do with your life then?" he had always just associated her with Gage's class, and had never really thought of her in another capacity.

"Environmental Science with a minor in International Studies." she smirked at his expression, "I know, pretty obvious. I couldn't be more cliché."

"No, its not that bad..." he smiled as she raised an eyebrow, "Ok, its kind of cliché. Handing out flyers for Free Tibet and recycling. I mean, I wasn't expecting you to get a degree in Sports Medicine or anything."

"I will have you know that was my second choice." She looked down at her watch, "I got to go. I have a class at Miller. See you at psychology?"

"Yeah. Ok." She walked off and he risked a glimpse up at his window. Chuck gave him another over the top thumbs up, raising his hands above his head and dancing. Harry chuckled a little, turning his back on his friend and walking to Gage's office. He was supposed to meet a Dr. Spencer Reid in thirty minutes.


End file.
